“Good.”
Josh glanced at the clock. “So how long did—”
“Do you think Chloe’s right?” Alex blurted out, making Josh wonder how long she’d been waiting to ask.
He arched a brow at her.
“You know, that you can really heal people?”
Josh blew out a breath and plopped down on Chloe’s sofa. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looked at her. “Actually, yeah. I do.”
Alex perched on the arm of the nearby chair. “Really?”
“I tested it this afternoon.”
“You did? How?”
Chloe barged through the door with her arms full of shopping bags and headed through the living area to the kitchen table.
Josh gave her only a quick glance before answering Alex. “I was at the skate park—”
Chloe set her bags on the table and turned around. “At the skate park? Josh, you aren’t supposed to be—”
“He was testing his ability,” Alex said.
Chloe’s eyes went wider, and she joined them. “What?”
“Anyway, I was watching, not skating.”
“Right,” Alex said.
“So, when I was there this kid fell and scraped up his leg. I went over to see if he was all right and…”
Alex nodded for him to continue, eyes wide.
“And?” Chloe said.
Josh reached for the leg of his pants and hiked it up over his knee. He peeled the tape off one side of the bandage and lifted it so they could see the wound. It was still wet but not bleeding as much.
Their eyes widened. “Whoa! You got that?” Chloe said.
“Yeah.”
“So how does it work exactly?” Alex asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just touched him.”
“Touched the cut?”
“No, just touched his arm.”
“Whoa,” Chloe said.
“So it really wasn’t Chloe doing it,” Alex said.
“Nope.” Josh waited, but they were both silent, pondering everything. He chuckled. “Hey, lighten up. This is good news.”
Alex’s brows pulled together in thought.
Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“I’m special now. Like you.”
“You mean you have the Schuyler Curse,” Chloe said.
“Since when is it a curse? You were bragging about your new trick after you got hurt on the rafting trip this summer.”
“Um, since I got kidnapped and maimed by some psycho-freak.” She lightly brushed the scar on her arm. “My lack of pain isn’t really very useful.”
“But it comes in handy when you stub a toe or whatever. The point is, you and Cam have these cool abilities, and now I do, too.”
“So your ability is, like, taking people’s wounds? That’s kind of lame, don’t you think?”
“It’s not lame,” Alex said.
Josh gave her a nod. “Thank you. Come on, Chloe. Don’t you get how great this is?”
“Help me out,” Chloe said. “Because what I see is an easy way for you to get hurt. That’s not so cool.”
Josh stood and started pacing the room. “Getting hurt is a drawback, but the cool part is that I can heal people. Think what this could mean. I could be a hero—not like Batman or something stupid, but a real hero. I could like, I don’t know, become a paramedic or something, and whenever the ambulance gets a call—bam—I can go heal that person. I could visit hospitals…” His brain was racing as he spoke, and his voice was rising, his hands making big gestures. He didn’t care—this was life-changing stuff.
Chloe held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold on there, cowboy. You haven’t thought this through.”
“Yes, I have. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop for the past two days.”
“No. You haven’t.”
Josh stopped pacing and stared at his sister. Why did she have to be such a buzz kill when he’d finally made his transformation? This was his shining moment—he was face to face with his destiny and she was trying to ruin it.
“Josh, you can’t go around collecting people’s injuries—you’d be a wreck! For one thing, you have a low pain threshold.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off.
“From what we can tell, you don’t really heal people—you absorb their wounds. It’s transferred to your body, so that means whoever you ‘heal’—” she used air quotes— “you’ll have to suffer their sickness or disease or whatever. As far as we know, you don’t recover any faster than normal.” She grabbed his hand and pointed to his palm. “That paper cut still looks raw from yesterday, and your leg is still bleeding a little. You’ll probably end up with normal scars from anything you absorb. If you start healing people in masses, best case scenario is that you’ll end up sick and covered with wounds.”
“But—”
“Plus, you won’t really know what ailments people have beforehand. What if you heal someone from, say, bronchitis, and it turns out they have cancer? What if you heal someone with AIDS or something incurable? Josh, you could die!”
Josh took a deep breath. “You’re totally overreacting. I’m not saying I should go out and heal people with AIDS or cancer. I’ll have to be careful, sure. My point was, look at the potential. You have to admit it’s kind of cool.” He looked between Chloe and Alex, hopeful that they would see his point.
Alex was still frowning. “I don’t know, Josh,” she said quietly. “This could be dangerous. What if you accidentally touch someone you’re not meaning to heal and you get seriously hurt?”
“Exactly,” Chloe said. “This is not a good idea.”
Josh sighed and threw up his hands, turning away from the girls. “You don’t get it. Of course you wouldn’t. Why did I think my own sister would understand? Nevermind. Just forget it.” He walked to the door.
“Josh, don’t—” Chloe started, then hesitated.
Hand on the doorknob, he turned on his heel and glared at her, “What?”
“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” There was worry in her eyes, but he ignored it, glaring at her. What little faith she had in her brother.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Seriously, Josh. Promise me you won’t risk your life or anything. Please?” Chloe’s eyes softened. He knew she wasn’t doing this to be stubborn, but it still annoyed him that she was treating him like a baby. Why couldn’t she be happy for him? He wanted to share this discovery with someone—someone that would understand the joy and hope that he’d found his purpose.
“Fine. I promise. Happy?”
But neither of the girls looked happy as he left their apartment.
~
Finding Gus had taken a while, but Nic had finally secured himself a decent weapon. He was more than happy with the Wilson 1911. Things were falling into place.
Nic strode into the pub and up to the bartender. Resting an elbow on the counter, he glanced at the clock and ordered a glass of wine. He was three minutes early to meet Doc, and that calmed him. When the barkeep brought him the drink, Nic paid in cash, withholding the tip. Climbing onto one of the stools which made him feel taller, he swiveled to scan the room. He pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it with a diamond-encrusted lighter—one of the few items he’d managed to keep in his painful eviction.
Rooney’s was an upscale place, for a bar. Men wore slacks. A few of them were in suits. Women were clad in black dresses and stilettos.
On the weekends a jazz band typically had the small stage in the corner, gracing the patrons with their matching snazzy red jackets and upbeat ditties. This was an off night, and the only music came from the overhead speakers. So why was there a crowd of people over by the stage?
He frowned, craning his neck, which didn’t help him see any better. But then the mass moved his way and he caught a glimpse of video cameras and equipment. Professional-grade, like someone was filming for television or something. He wondered what they were doing at R
ooney’s.
A gorgeous woman with wavy dark hair and a pouty mouth broke through the crowd and strode toward the bar, a coy smile curving her red lips. Three men were close at her heels, eyes locked on her, stupid grins plastered on their faces. A camera crew trailed after the foursome, pushing past onlookers. The woman walked up next to Nic, draped her arm over the counter, and winked at the bartender.
“Four martinis, please.” The three males hovered like canines waiting for someone to throw them a stick.
“ID?” the bartender said.
She pulled the card from her bra, giving him a sultry pucker, and slid it across the bar with a French-manicured finger.
He glanced at the driver’s license. “Coming right up.” Looking at the cameras, he straightened a bit as if subtly posing, and then turned to make the drinks.
That was when Nic caught on. It was a reality show—one of those stupid television dating games. These guys would have to battle it out and she’d pick them off one at a time until only one was left. He glanced over at the ID, wondering why the woman looked so familiar. He usually didn’t forget a face. Jessica Bronson. That name didn’t ring a bell…
She picked up the ID and, before she dropped it back into her cleavage, Nic caught the address. He wouldn’t normally have noticed, but it was 369 Windsor Hill Avenue, not something he could let slip from his eye. Three words and a perfect number.
The tallest of the three men took a step closer to the woman, casually snaking his arm around her waist. She looked at him and smiled. The grins on the other two men’s faces vanished. The shorter, pudgy guy’s cheeks went pink. As if wanting to milk the change in tension, the woman glanced at Pudgy and winked. His face flamed even redder. Bachelor Number Three curled his hands into fists, though no one else seemed to notice.
At that moment the bachelorette glanced over at Nic. Their eyes locked, and the expression on her face changed. She stepped toward him, her smile traded in for a smirk. The cameramen stepped forward, homing in on him like flies looking for rotting meat.
She pointed a finger in his face. “I remember you. You were that guy who tried to buy me a drink a while back.” She turned back to the trio of men. “This guy here tried to come on to me, can you believe that?” She laughed, and her lap dogs guffawed.
Venom surged through Nic’s veins. He clenched his fists and glared. A layer of perspiration formed around his temples and under his armpits.
“Can you believe he actually thought he had a chance with me?” A trill escaped her mouth at the hilarity of the idea. The group echoed with more laughter. A sea of faces sneered at him.
Nic slammed his cigar in the ashtray. Slipping off the stool, he stepped up to her. He had to look up to meet her eyes because she was about a head taller than him.
“Look how little he is!” she said, pointing again. The crowd roared now, the sound making his ears buzz like a horde of violent bees.
Nic wanted to fly at her, to attack her with his fists, but the nearby cameras held him at bay. If he got caught now, he’d never get the witch. His brain was pulsing with anger so loudly he couldn’t think straight. Still he held it in, seething silently.
The bartender returned, placing four drinks on the counter and interrupting the exchange. The woman thanked him and passed out the drinks. While they were distracted, Nic considered taking advantage of the opportunity. A hand touched his shoulder. Startled, Nic spun to see Doc’s grimy face sending him a warning look.
“Let’s go find a table.” He guided Nic with his arm. Nic glanced back at the group, but they had moved on and were laughing amongst themselves about something else now.
Nic was pondering his options for getting back at the tramp as he followed Doc to a booth.
Doc kept his gravelly voice low. “Let it go, Nic. You don’t want to do this here.” He sat down.
Nic slid in and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. “What?”
Doc glanced around and met Nic’s eyes. “I have some news for you.”
“What did you find out?”
“I looked up the effects of pepper spray, both temporary and long-term. Initially you probably had tears, runny nose, coughing, a burning sensation, and possibly blindness.”
Nic nodded.
“Lasting effects depend on the type, the proximity, and whether you’ve had repeated exposure.”
Nic frowned. “I’ve never been sprayed before.”
“That’s good news. Most sources say that a single incident can’t cause permanent corneal sensitivity or loss of visual acuity.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means it won’t permanently damage your eyes or sight.”
“But my eyes have been damaged!”
“Correction. Your sight is normal. What you had before wasn’t.” Doc looked around again and licked his lips. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.
Nic narrowed his eyes. “What are you not telling me, Doc?”
“There’s no way to know for sure—”
Irritation pricked at his nerves, already raw from what that slut had said. His voice rose in pitch. “Just spit it out!”
Doc’s face grew white, and he leaned forward. “No need to raise your voice. I was just going to say, there’s one thing that worries me. I said most sources say there’s no chance of permanent damage. But I found one source that says otherwise.”
“What source?”
“The U.S. military. They’ve used pepper spray in the past for cases where they needed to incapacitate but not harm people, both individually and in groups. A special form of the spray has been used to stop protestors and other mass riots. But after extensive studies on the long-term consequences of exposure, they found evidence supporting the possibility that it actually can cause harm. According to the tests, it is particularly difficult to pinpoint when the population is highly varied. An individual’s genetic makeup might alter the effects of a reaction.”
Nic’s heart thudded faster. “What kind of harm?”
“Some cases showed carcinogenic effects, cardiovascular toxicity, pulmonary toxicity, neurotoxicity, and mutagenic effects. In rare cases, the effects lead to death. There’s been a slew of lawsuits… But that’s another story.”
“Wait—mutagenic effects? Like genetic mutations?”
Doc nodded. “Yes. The most common mutations are cancer and other tumors, but changes in genetic material are also possible.”
“Are you saying this could have had something to do with losing the power of my magic eyes?”
Doc sighed. “I can’t explain what happened to your ability, because I don’t fully understand how it got there in the first place.”
“But it has something to do with genetic mutations.”
“Genetic mutations…an allergic reaction on some level…or a hard reset of your eyesight due to the temporary blindness. It could be any one of them—or something else altogether. There’s no way to know for sure.”
“I don’t need to know the cause, Doc. I just need to know is if you can reverse it. Can you give me back my magic eyes?”
“I can’t guarantee anything. But theoretically, if I repeated the same procedure I used to cure your blindness, it might bring the same results. But it would cost you.”
“It always does. How much?”
“Same as before.”
“How soon can you do it?”
“Give me a week to come up with the supplies I need.”
“It’ll take me at least that long to get the cash.”
“Wow, you really have slowed down, haven’t you?”
“Don’t even get me started.”
“Okay.” Doc sent Nic a last warning look and stood up.
Nic’s gaze trailed back to the woman surrounded by men and cameras.
Doc followed his gaze. “Take a tip: let it go.”
Nic ignored the doc’s warning. The tall brunette stood out from everyone else in the room. A face he’d forgotten once, but never again. And no
w he had a name and address to go with it. As Doc headed toward the door, Nic stared at the woman, her smile adding fresh kindling to the flame of rage that burned just below the surface. Oh, he’d be careful all right. Careful not to get caught.
She could cackle all she wanted with her herd of dogs, but at the end of the night, he would have the last laugh. Nic thought of his shiny new Wilson waiting for him in the trunk of his car. The anger only fed his anticipation for the moment.
Saturday morning in Ocean Beach, Alex sat on the balcony of her favorite sea-front café enjoying brunch with her father. The warm sun tingled on her face, with intermittent cool breezes that kicked up the smell of the ocean. The scent revived familiar sensations and memories, making her feel like she’d never left California.
She looked at her dad, who was dressed in a button-down shirt and linen trousers—his version of casual attire. He ran his hands through his brown hair that was straight as a board—nothing like the rat’s nest of curls hers was. His mouth stayed in a straight line, but his pale blue eyes smiled at her.
Hands cradling his cup of coffee, he just looked at her for a moment. His eyes turned serious, and Alex wondered if there was something on his mind.
“So…” she began. “What’s new with you?”
His cheeks deepened a shade. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, shifting and looking out to sea.
That was weird.
When he failed to answer, she frowned at him, wondered what was going on. Her foot started tapping.
“Dad…is something wrong?” Surely it couldn’t be anything major, or else he would have told her over the phone. Mom was fine. What was it then?
He cleared his throat and pulled his gaze away from the beach, back to their table. His eyes were shifty, though, darting around and avoiding hers at all costs.
“I just have some news, that’s all.”
“News?”
“Well…not news, exactly… It’s just…” He picked at the tablecloth.
The waitress walked up with a tray of food. “One sun-dried tomato quiche and one grilled chicken salad. Anything else?”
Outsider: The Flawed Series Book Two Page 13